


The Ice Cream Rule

by beingonstageismagic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Ice Cream, Love, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Promises, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingonstageismagic/pseuds/beingonstageismagic
Summary: Sherlock and Molly have been best friends since they were seven years old. When they were in primary school, they came up with one rule, one promise that they would swear by for the rest of their lives: ice cream fixes everything.Starts in a childhood AU, some school and university stories before catching up with the events of the show.





	The Ice Cream Rule

"Go on, Will, go give it to her."

The seven year old looked at his Mother from under his sun dyed curls, the ginger tint shining thanks to the summer skies above the new Holmes family cottage, hiding his sneer at his given name. It had been just over a year since the fire, and just over eight months since the young boy had changed his own memories. He didn't remember his sister or Victor, but his parents were glad for that, in a way. They were also glad for the new best friend who had driven into town three months earlier.

Seven year old Molly sat swinging on the twin swing in the make shift playground Mr Holmes had created for the children after meeting the Hoopers in the town, hitting it off immediately and learning they had a daughter the same age as their son. Molly's parents, after tending to their upset child, had headed back into the huge house to have afternoon tea with the Holmes adults. Molly kicked the bark at her feet with her scuffed shoes. She sniffled, the remnants of tears sitting in her nose. Her friend had made her cry when he had told her that she didn't have the proper technique when she went down the slide, and so was never allowed to play on it ever again.

"Go on." Was whispered into William's ear.

He watched his step extremely carefully as he headed towards the swings, his tongue poking out of his mouth slightly due to his effort and intense concentration. He reached her and she looked up at him, her brown hair tatty in her braid. He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Molly."

He smiled at her and held out the strawberry ice cream cone and bringing his chocolate one to his mouth to lick. She took it with her head tilted in confusion. He smiled and licked his ice cream again before perching on the swing beside her and starting up a new conversation, this time about why he thought girl pirates should be as important as boy pirates.

Mrs Holmes laughed at the children in her garden, and headed back inside once she saw that they were playing nicely again.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Sherlock?"

"I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Come on, how was I supposed to know?"

"You should have just known."

"You and I both know that's impossible."

He grunted, she stepped closer to their favourite tree in the school grounds. It was a huge blossom tree, far away from the hustle and bustle of the main playground. It was quiet which Sherlock liked, and pretty which appealed to Molly's standards. It was the perfect place for them. And they'd branded it so when they'd carved their names into the trunk. He was sat on the bizarre brand which stuck out at a perfectly horizontal angle, swinging his legs just above her head as she looked up at him.

"I didn't think you'd be talking to those boys."

"They were commenting on my genius again."

"They called you a freak again, didn't they?" He nodded, "You have to stop letting them tease you."

"Well they have reason to tease me even more now."

"I didn't purposely call you it!"

"Yes, well, that doesn't change the fact that they know your silly nickname for me."

"You like it."

"Perhaps when you say it. Now, like I said, I don't want to talk to you right now."

Molly turned on her heel away from her petulant best friend, the long ponytail tied in a bright yellow scrunchie swishing behind her. She thought about giving up, but she had a better idea. She ran to the canteen, smiling at all of the teachers she passed along the way, ignoring the other children who called her a teacher's pet. When she finally got to Christie, she could barely catch her breath.

Christie the canteen lady loved Sherlock and Molly, she had since they'd started and she still did, even as they were preparing to leave for secondary school. She would often make them special lunches and desserts, letting them eat with her in the kitchens so they could regale her with their latest experiments and bright new ideas. She pushed her wide circular glasses up her nose and placed a hairnet around her grey curls.

"What can I help you with, Miss Hooper?"

"You don't happen to have any chocolate ice cream, do you?"

Christie smiled.

About ten minutes after she'd left him, Sherlock saw Molly walking back towards him, her hands behind her back. By this point, a teacher had seen him in their tree and told him to get down (Molly was certainly more loved by the teachers than him), so Sherlock sat on the ground, slumped against the bark. He looked down from her gaze and began pulling at the grass around him. He didn't look up again until after she'd sat gracefully down next to him, and placed a chocolate ice cream cone in front of his face. He hid his smile as he saw her holding a strawberry one.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't respond but he flashed her a pearly smile and licked his ice cream. Molly let out a relieved chuckle, now that all was okay. They licked at their ice creams in a companionable silence for a while, until Molly had an idea.

"Sherlock?" He stopped what he was doing and looked at her, his tongue set against the ice cream in mid lick, "Do you remember when you told me that I had improper playground technique?"

"I do, so much so that I remember it was purely the slide you had wrong. Everything else was remarkably adequate." She laughed and swatted at his arm, "I even remember my mum giving me some ice cream for you so I could make it all better."

"Yeah, well I'm thinking-"

"Is it hurting?"

"Hey!" His arm received more than a swat for that, "I mean I was thinking of setting a rule for us."

"A rule? You know I don't like rules."

"Well maybe not a rule then, but a promise."

"Okay? What is it?"

"I think we should promise to each other that, no matter how badly we've fought, no matter how much we hurt each other's feelings or how much trouble we cause, ice cream fixes everything."

"Everything?"

"Yep."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what."

"Molly Hooper, you have yourself a deal."

They pinky promised each other before sliding their hands into a smooth and sophisticated handshake. Mycroft had come up with their seal, because a pinky promise was what Molly lived by, but Sherlock couldn't betray a firm handshake. A seamless combination of the two seemed like the safest solution.

"The ice cream promise." He smiled.

"The ice cream promise, indeed," she paused, "Curly Sherly."

He tried to scowl at her but found he couldn't.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He felt the guilt deep in his stomach, heavy like a solid ball of lead. He stood with his head against her closed door. The one she'd closed on him. Rightfully so.

He could hear her crying. She was trying to stifle it and probably had her hands covering her mouth and nose, but he could hear it.

Why couldn't he have just kept his big mouth shut? Or at least, he could have found a better way to say it. He believed Molly had the right to know that whom she considered her first serious boyfriend, was really just trying to win a bet he'd made with his friends, after gloating that he could get into "the virgin's" pants within three weeks with his charming ways and, frankly, unnerving smile. But he didn't have to announce it in front of said boy, and all of his friends, whilst Molly was saying an intimate goodbye.

He knew she wasn't angry at him, she knew him almost better than he knew himself, so she would know that it came from a good place. She was upset, that's all, she felt used and dirty and worthless. And he just reminded her of that feeling right now, that's all. Sherlock shook his head, and lowered the hand he had ready to knock on the door again before walking away.

Molly wiped at her eyes with her sleeves. Her tissues were in the living room and if there was one thing she didn't want to right now, it was leave her bedroom. She felt humiliated and empty. She really believed that perhaps Harry was being genuine, that maybe someone like him really did see something in someone as invisible as her. She really wanted to believe it. She jerked her head up at the knock on the door, praying to the lord that it would be anyone but her Dad. He was amazing but when it came to things like this, he wouldn't hesitate to turn up at the Smith's home and demand that their son be punished. Her mum was definitely the parent she consulted in the matters of the male gender.

She rose shakily to her feet and opened the door, her sobs fading as Sherlock smiled back at her, two cones of ice cream in his hands. She rolled her eyes but smiled at him.

"Next time," she moved aside to let him in after taking her ice cream, "choose a more appropriate setting to tell me about my failures in the department of relationships."

"Will do." He sat on the bed and waited until she'd perched opposite him, her legs crossed underneath her as she licked the dessert in her hand, "Now, how about a revenge plan?"

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The black car lurked ominously behind him. Molly couldn't believe she wouldn't see him for god knows how long. Only she would choose a best friend who decided to get himself to deeply tangled in the spider web of drugs that the government itself would demand his rehabilitation. She knew Mycroft would have had something to do with it, and she was thankful for her (somewhat aloof) friend's insight and help, but she would miss him. And that's what hurt her the most.

He couldn't look at her as he stood in front of her doorstep. Instead, his eyes were focused on the doorframe behind her, the red paint chipping away, revealing the white beneath it, his mind relaying the many different facts he knew about student housing as she stood before her, eye level thanks to the step beneath her feet. He hadn't looked at her once. He was too ashamed of himself, too embarrassed to finally have to admit to his best friend that he had failed her. He'd been so set on not looking at her, he'd failed to see the ice creams she carried.

"Sherlock, look at me."

He did as he was told, at first, shocked at her tone, then an odd mixture of relief, happiness and hurt when he saw what she was holding. He took the one she held out to him.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Molly."

"I'm aware," she almost giggled in spite of the situation at the signature way his head cocked to one side in his confusion, "it's not an apology, it's more of an ... I already forgive you."

In that moment, he looked at her with so much genuine emotion, she couldn't help the tears that fell from her eyes. He held his arms out to her and she gladly accepted the once in a blue moon opportunity to hug her best friend.

They stood on her doorstep, holding each other and crying until they felt they were ready to let go for an unforeseeable amount of time. Both took great care in the protection of their ice cream cones.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Molly walked away from her grieving father as he cried at her mother's graveside. The funeral had been lovely, everything her mother would have wanted it to be, but the light spread by the service just wasn't enough to brighten the darkness she found in her heart, in her very soul. She felt so alone, she knew she'd would have her father forever but he needed her right now, she'd lost her mum but he'd lost the love of his life, he'd lost his entire being, and comforting him was more important to her than comforting herself. But she knew he needed this moment, he needed this final goodbye. So she walked away to the nearest tree leaving him in peace. She watched for a few minutes before an unusually familiar voice caught her by surprise.

"Molly."

She turned around to find Sherlock Holmes, clad in a long, expensive looking coat, with immaculately messy hair and a solemn smile on his face. She couldn't help but gape in shock. Her childhood best friend stood before her, actually stood before her. She wasn't imagining it. It'd been 3 years since he'd been dragged off to rehab in their final year of uni. She hadn't seen him since. She knew he was still alive, she would have been told by his family if he hadn't survived, but she assumed he didn't want to know her anymore. Perhaps she had finally become too boring for him. She composed herself when he spoke again.

"I'm so sorry."

"For my loss or your disappearance?" The question came out tersely and much more bitter than she expected. He winced but figured he deserved it.

"Both."

His simple answer filled with such regret and sorrow broke her heart. He and her mum had always got on well and she imagined he was hurt by the loss just as she was. His eyes begged her for forgiveness but also comforted her as he felt the same pain she was feeling. He too had lost Amelia Hooper from his life. She scanned the face of her best friend, her rock and her survival kit, and decided it didn't matter that he'd been gone. What mattered was that he came back. She choked out a sob before walking into his arms, which welcomed her warmly. To both participants, it felt like coming home.

He held her for a while before pulling back and wiping a tear from her face. He pushed her hair behind her ear and whispered,

"Come with me?"

She half laughed, half sobbed as he held his hand out to her. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed her father in the arms of Sherlock's Mother, with his Father's hand on his back, Mycroft standing at a comforting distance, the family had attended the funeral from the start, but Molly would have noticed of Sherlock was one of the few faces she cared about in that god awful room. Sherlock's father caught her eye and nodded, signalling to her that he would take care of her Dad, so she took Sherlock's hand and let him lead the way. After a short walk talking about her mother and some of the memories they had, Molly couldn't help herself.

"Why didn't you come back?"

"I did. A thousand times. I would come back and find you, and then I would see you smile, and I would see you laugh, and I would see you were happy. And then, I knew I couldn't disrupt that."

"You wouldn't have-"

"I was so ashamed, Moll, I ... I couldn't face you. I thought I'd disappointed you and that was something I couldn't bring myself to confront. I'm sorry."

She gave no response, just squeezed his hand and gave him a soft smile. She wasn't sure if she could justify his disappearance but he was her best friend, so forgiveness was necessary.

"Where are we going?"

"We're nearly there, it's just around the corner."

As they turned Molly realised their destination was the old-style ice cream parlour near where they used to live.

She laughed with him as he held the door open for her, looking up at the good old gold bell chiming above the white door.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Molly sat on her couch. Empty and broken. What on Earth would have possessed him to do such a thing? She wasn't even sure when to begin. She looked down at the photograph in her hands, it was taken in the ice cream parlour on the day of her Mother's funeral, so many years ago. It was them and their ice creams, giant smiles on their faces despite themselves. Happiness inherent in every ice cream they'd ever shared.

Her heart sank as she realised that had been the last one. After her mother died, everything changed. Molly had been rushed into the final stages of her residency, needing placement and an income as fast as she could. And Sherlock had left her to it. They had still spoken at times, but they had grown apart. Even through the loss of her father, she'd only receive the occasional text message or letter in the mail.

When they'd met at Barts, Molly thought things might change again. That maybe things could go back to the way they used to be, but the consulting detective seemed to have other plans. He'd convinced himself that feelings were detrimental, the sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. She still scoffed at his words. He'd sounded like a bitter 65 year old hermit the first time she'd heard him say them. The fact that she was now accustomed to it made her heart sink. He'd cut himself off from her, and from the rest of the world. And Molly had simply accepted that this was how it was going to be.

There were times when she'd hoped and prayed that he'd show up at her door, ice cream in hand and a smile on his face. But he never did. Not after that horrible Christmas, not when she'd helped him fake his death and he'd used her flat as a bolt hole (messing the place up and being extremely lazy and non-complaint), not even when he'd come back from the dead. She'd supposed the crime solving day was his way of making it up to her, but she couldn't help but remember the feeling of deep disappointment when he'd said they should go for chips rather than something cold and sweeter.

She put the photo down next to her and stared at the phone on the table. Her eyes fixed on the screen that had said his name just hours earlier. Her ears remembering the voice coming through the speakers saying those three words that she'd always longed to hear. Multiple times.

Now all that she wanted was for him to be okay.

She knew what had happened. Knew about the secret sister and the house fire and the Sherrinford facility. She knew about the tests Eurus had put them through, how John had almost died, how Eurus was the girl on the plane. She knew all of it, for the friendship between Mycroft and herself had never dissipated. She would admit that they weren't best friends, but they were almost family, and to Mycroft, that counted for something. And in this case, that something was the privilege of being the first phone call he made after getting out of his sister's cell.

So now, she just wanted him to be okay.

She'd been letting herself cry again when she'd faintly heard the soft tapping at the door. She'd stood, practically ran to the door and thrown it open.

The sight in front of her was enough to make her knees weak and induce an extra round of hot tears into her dark eyes.

Sherlock Holmes stood there, looking slightly disheveled, dressed in a sense of chaotic immaculacy (with his perfect, but crinkly suit) and his belstaff coat. She'd scanned his body for injuries, noting how everything seemed okay apart from his splintered and cut hands. Something she would have to address later, (she'd had a feeling Mycroft had left something out). In his battered hands were two ice cream cones. One chocolate, on strawberry. She looked up at him with hopeful eyes, the fresh tears falling.

"I'm sorry." He held his hand containing her cone out to her, it shook slightly, "and," he took a deep breath, filling his lungs, "I meant it."

Molly took the ice cream but paid no attention to it. Instead, throwing herself into Sherlock and sobbing against his chest, their arms wrapped around each other, automatically keeping the ice creams out of harms way. Sherlock's head shuffled against hers and he pulled her so close to him that she'd think something was behind her trying to pull her away. They cried together as Sherlock nuzzled her head and neck. Eventually, she pulled back and looked into his eyes. Those impressive, complex and yet, so easy for her to read blue eyes. She reached up her spare hand and wiped a tear from his cheek before gathering her courage and pulling herself up to place a soft kiss against his lips.

"Me too."

He crashed his lips onto hers again and the ice creams where forgotten for a while, melting idly on Molly's welcome mat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought!! Xx


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